Warriors
by vibratojen
Summary: Harry and Draco travel to the times of the greatest lovers and realize that love hasn't changed, and it never will. Oneshot. HP/DM


_Jennifer Johnson_

**Warriors**

"Where do you want to go tonight?" Harry asked Draco, wrapping his arms around the shorter man and nibbling his ear.

Draco whipped around and faced the brunette. "I told you, we're staying in tonight. I don't want you straining yourself, you've been working like a dog this past month!"

"But it's Valentine's Day…think of all the love we can share."

Draco kissed Harry lightly and removed himself from the embrace. "We have plenty of love between us to satisfy for a million years. There's no sense using your magic."

"Please?" Harry pleaded. "How can you turn down the offer to go back in time and see the great lovers before us?"

"I'm not a voyeur, Harry. I have no desire to watch other people fornicate, be they five hundred years old or one thousand years old."

"It's not about sex," Harry argued. "This is about experiencing other people's love and our love and celebrating it! But if you'd rather stay home, that's fine."

Harry, disappointed, trudged up the stairs. "I'm going to wake Albus from his nap, maybe he'll want to travel time with me."

Draco sighed and sat down on a divan. Draco hated making Harry unhappy…but he had been doing so much this week, making sure there were no bugs in the Triwizard Tournament challenges (a job he had volunteered for immediately), chasing down the centaurs who had wreaked havoc in Diagon Alley, and consoling Hermione over the death of her mother. The time travel spell required so much power and energy- too much for a lover's tour.

When Harry returned downstairs with a sleepy one-year-old, Draco could tell that his mood had lifted. Harry kissed his son lightly on the nose and Albus smiled, reaching up running a tiny finger along Harry's scar.

Harry sat down next to Draco and Albus settled into Harry's lap, leaning on his chest and looking at Draco with rapidly awakening eyes. Draco looked at the pair. He looked at Harry's face, awake, flushed with love.

Draco was about to speak when there was a knock at the door. He opened it and was pleased to see Molly Weasley.

"Hello, my dears!" she cooed, coming in and kissing Draco on both cheeks before rushing to the divan, where she coddled Harry and Albus.

"Molly! What are you doing here?" Harry asked delightedly, allowing her to take Albus and patting a seat beside him.

"Well, all the kids are gone, you know, and Arthur is away, so I thought I'd be a third wheel for an hour or so!" she said, bouncing Albus on her knee.

"My question is, what are you two doing here? It's Valentine's Day! I was reading that Muggle magazine Arthur brings home, and I saw an article on London's twenty best restaurants, perfectly suited for a romantic evening."

"Well, Draco and I decided we wanted to stay in tonight…" Draco nodded, slightly guilty. "…but even if we changed our minds, we haven't made a reservation anywhere."

Draco looked at Harry with an exasperated smile. "Darling, with a flick of the wand, we could be on that list and seated in five minutes."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that magic stuff," Harry said, smiling.

"Well, it's simply not right that the two of you stay in tonight. I can see a couple of geezers like me and Arthur staying in, but you two are still young. I can keep an eye on my adorable godson for as long as you'd like. Why don't you two live a little?"

Draco and Harry looked at each other, and both responded at the same time.

"No, that's o-"

"Alright."

Harry looked at Draco, his eyes lit up. "Alright? You want to go out?"

Draco smiled, delighted at how excited Harry had become. "Well, the babysitter fell into our lap and we have nothing else to do…why not?"

Harry jumped up and pulled Draco off the divan. The sun was just setting as Harry swept his lover out the door with a quick, "Thanks, Mrs. W!" The two men slipped into the nearest alley and apparated to their favorite park a few miles outside the city. The snow was deep under their feet as Draco was dragged behind Harry to a small frozen pond surrounded by brown willows. Harry stopped and turned to Draco, pulling him close and whispering once more, "Where do you want to go?"

Harry's green eyes were hypnotizing, and Draco had trouble remembering anything except "lips" and "warm". The fire in Harry's eyes reminded Draco of two lovers, and he whispered, "Alexander and Hephaistion." Harry nodded and whispered the spell. Draco clung to Harry as they traveled through blackness, hearing the music of the ages and feeling heat and cold and misery and happiness. Then it stopped.

Harry and Draco had been deposited in the Persian mountains on a warm summer's evening. They were surrounded by hundreds of victorious soldiers, drinking wine, brawling, singing, and generally being rowdy. Many tugged female prisoners behind them, and Draco couldn't stand watching them being lead to an unpleasant fate. Draco moved instinctively towards a girl of about sixteen, but Harry pulled him back.

"You can't change the past," Harry whispered into Draco's ear. He squeezed the blond's hand. From behind them, they heard a loud roar. A gruff voice spoke in an ancient tongue, unintelligible to Draco, who had not Harry's power to decipher the past.

"What is he saying?" Draco asked Harry.

"He's saying…long live Alexander, our mighty leader. He is in his rightful place, at the top of the mount, like the gods in Olympus."

With these words Harry and Draco looked above them, and in the dark they could discern a small light. "Come on," Harry said, and they walked towards the light.

When they reached it, they discovered it came from within a tent. Yards away, several guards made sure that no one interrupted the general in his private affairs. Unseen, Harry and Draco entered the tent.

Inside, laying on a makeshift bed of rich silk, was Hephaistion. His naked body glowed in the dim torchlight, his hands and neck adorned with jewels and gold. He laid on his side, watching Alexander wash the grime from his battled body. His eyes rested on Alexander's naked buttocks and arching back, water dripping from the general's hair slowly down his spine.

"They're beautiful," Draco whispered to Harry.

When Alexander had finished, he turned to Hephaistion. His eyes darkened with a need for flesh as he savored his lover's body, wiry, thick, a hardening cock between meaty thighs. Alexander moved to Hephaistion's side, taking his sword and pressing the butt end into Hephaistion's chest, pressing firmly onto his nipples. As Alexander moved downwards, the sword pressed into Hephaistion's thigh, achingly close to his manhood. Alexander challenged Hephaistion with his intense gaze, challenging him to give in to his need. Hephaistion did not give in, but looked at Alexander with hungry eyes.

Alexander dropped the sword and took Hephaistion roughly by the shoulders, pulling him up so they were face to face. Alexander bit Hephaistion's neck, and a small drop of blood formed under the general's mouth. Alexander devoured Hephaistion's shoulders and chest, his hands clutching the man with incredible strength. At last, as Hephaistion looked his general in the eyes, held firmly and possessively, whole under Alexander's warmth, Alexander kissed the man. The kiss was passionate, and Alexander's tongue claimed Hephaistion's as his sword had claimed the enemy. When they separated, Alexander pushed a breathless Hephaistion to the ground. Alexander took his lover's hand, kissing each finger, and speoke in a low, intense voice.

"What is he saying?" Draco asked Harry, mesmerized by the warrior love, the love of gods, that he was witnessing.

"He's saying…some men fight for glory, some for riches…but I fight to live, so that when the battle is finished, I'll be here with you, inside you, forever."

Draco looked at Harry and their lips met.

"Now where do you want to go?" Harry asked, his breath hot on Draco's neck.

Draco looked once more to the men, embracing in their victory, and he answered softly, "Michelangelo."

Shortly, the wizards walked through the city of Rome, the moonlight shining on the damp road. Draco allowed himself to be pulled to Harry's side, his warmth lovely.

"Where is he?" Draco asked, but Harry didn't answer, putting a finger to Draco's lips. Harry followed the magic's pull to a grand home deep in the city. "Alohomora," Harry whispered, and the large doors opened. The entrance hall was dark but magnificent, the moonlight shining in on plush chairs, priceless art, flowers, brocade walls, high ceilings. Up a grand staircase they went to a set of chambers located at the end of a long hallway. Harry opened the door quietly.

"David," Draco said with an intake of breath as they peered inside.

Harry knew he was right. Standing nude in the middle of the room was a man, chiseled, with smooth, hairless skin, the face of an angel. David's eyes fluttered nervously as the artist sketched him, the grand master's trained eye glancing up occasionally to imprint each dimple, each defined muscle, into his mind's eye. David looked on Michelangelo with intense adoration- there was a blush upon his cheeks, but there was confidence in the set of his mouth. Michelangelo's strokes grew more urgent as he sketched David's length, not neglecting to impart the hardness that was present in the model's manhood.

Draco leaned back into Harry, and couldn't believe that he had almost denied them this. This was a master at work, this was the most beautiful figure of the Renaissance come to life. The attraction between artist and model was palpable and profound- one that transcended love and lust and was nature incarnate, basic and beautiful.

David spoke softly in Italian, and Draco was thankful that he didn't need Harry's translation.

"Master, I grow weary," he said, ashamed at his weakness.

Michelangelo put down his art and stood. He walked to his model and put a hand to David's perfect face.

"It is the sorry state of the muse to be looked upon for so many hours," Michelangelo said softly. "But when you are before me, unclothed, my hand and my heart yearn for you…and since I can't touch you, I have to make you mine, anyway I can."

Michelangelo turned from David, picking up David's linen shirt and offering it to him.

David took the shirt and tossed it in the corner of the room. Michelangelo's eyes questioned his precocious model, and the artist was amazed to find them defiant.

"Why can't you touch me?" David asked, his voice deep and clear.

Michelangelo didn't respond, but only turned away and began to organize his things.

"Why can't you touch me?" David demanded, his young body tense.

Michelangelo sighed. "It would be ruined."

"What do you mean?" David growled, frustrated with this response.

"The second I touch you…you'll be spoiled. When I look at you now, I see a god, a virgin, pure and perfect…a vision."

Michelangelo bit his lip, not sure how to continue. "If…I…we…"

"If we what?" David challenged the artist.

"If we…made love, it would never return to the way it is now. I feel like I make love to you each time I draw you, and every time you still remain untouched…I couldn't, I couldn't…"

David wrapped his arms around Michelangelo, pressing his body against the taller artist. Michelangelo gasped in surprise. His arms moved of their own accord to return David's embrace. The model looked up into Michelangelo's awestruck eyes.

"Make love to me."

With these words, Michelangelo took David's mouth in a heated kiss. Michelangelo's need was released. His hands clutched David's back, his perfect ass, and his mouth claimed the model's neck. Michelangelo tasted every inch of the body he had always drawn, tasted the hardened nipples, the abdomen. David's hips arched towards the artist's loving mouth, and with a moan, David's manhood was taken fully. The artist's lips glided up and down the length, his tongue making art on the head and tip. David writhed in pleasure, and could only manage to repeat in a throaty moan, "Master, master…"

Michelangelo released David's cock and kissed a trail up to David's mouth, where he softly said, "Now that you have had a taste…we can begin." With these words, that artist pulled his model to his feet and the lovers collapsed on a lush bed.

Draco could feel Harry's heat behind him, feel his arousal.

"Harry?" he asked.

"Yes?" Harry growled.

"Can we go one to more place?"

_Hogwarts..._

"You've won! My father's dead, my friends are dead, it's over! What do you want from me?!" a teenage Draco yelled, exhausted and furious.

Harry stood, his arms crossed. He regarded Malfoy, no longer in velvet, no longer seated on his comfortable pedestal. He sat dejectedly, slumped over, scarred and bruised, on the soft grass bordering the Forbidden Forest. The war was over, the funerals had, the change of power firmly in place.

"You know, if you don't take this assignment, you'll never find anything else. No one will want you."

"I'd rather die."

"Clearly."

Harry looked to the castle, still majestic after everything that had happened.

"You know that saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

"Of course, I'm not an idiot."

"Then come with me."

Draco looked at Harry with disgust, the only things keeping him from pounding him a broken leg and a confiscated wand.

"I wish you'd been killed."

"I know."

"I wish I could wipe those fucking victory smiles off everyone's face."

"I know."

"I wish everything was back to how it was before."

"Then come with me."

Harry looked at Draco. "You, and me, and everyone, hating each other just like before. Except this time without imminent death."

"Fuck you, Potter."

"No, fuck you, Malfoy."

Draco looked at Harry and gritted his teeth. "Is this the only way I can keep the manor?"

"Yes."

"I hope you get killed while we're doing this."

"So you're going to do it?"

"That's what I bloody fucking said."

Harry and Draco returned to the snowy park, silent. They had come so far since those days- hatred slowly melting, pride lost and restored, battles fought and lost, but the war won.

They returned to the house and sent Molly home, ignoring her questions with smiles and thanks. They looked in on Albus, sleeping peacefully in his little crib, and at last returned to their bedroom.

Draco collapsed on the bed, and Harry soon followed.

"How did we end up so normal?" Draco asked, his thoughts on those Hogwarts das after the war.

"I don't know, just lucky, I guess," Harry replied, pulling Draco to him.

"Why did you ever stay with me?" Draco whispered.

Harry kissed Draco soundly and only said, "Some men fight for glory, some for riches…but I fight to live, so that when the battle is finished, I'll be here with you, inside you, forever."


End file.
